


all I want's to feel your stare

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boat Sex, Canon Compliant, Daenerys Targaryen Deserved Better, Don’t copy to another site, Drabble, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Massage, Sexual Humor, Smut, Somewhere in between 6x09 and 6x10, Sore boobs, Why Does Yara's Armor Have Boobs Built In?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-08-10 03:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20128855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “You should get it resized,” Daenerys breathed out, promising to herself that this would be the last of her remarks before she lunged for Yara once more. “Or better yet, get some new armor.”Daenerys seeks Yara out on her ship after the sexual tension between them boils over in Meereen. When she realizes that Yara has breasts built into armor, a whole other issue arises.





	all I want's to feel your stare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fowlaaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fowlaaa/gifts).

> This is for my boo @fowlaaa who humored my long ramblings about why Yara's armor has boobs in it. This was supposed to be like 500 words but here we are.

The ironborn were not so different from the Dothraki as Daenerys would have thought before meeting them for herself. The docks were bustling with their activities, her fleet shaping out to be as impressive as she dreamed when she first set out to purchase ships from the spicer in Qarth. There were hundreds at her disposal now that the masters were done away with once and for all.

Now there was little to do but wait. Yara Greyjoy’s men were hard at works from the looks of it. They were a rough sort, lugging about barrels and tossing hooks and wires between them, while others lounged on the harbor, making crass jokes and laughing boisterously amongst themselves.

For all that their reputations preceded them, at least they kept their morale high.

Daenerys stepped over a sack of grain deftly as she made her way towards the captain’s ship. It had a name but she couldn’t recall what it was. It was no matter; she would find it out for herself soon enough. With the sun beating down on them, it was no wonder that her newest allies had chosen to stow away on and around their ships rather than suffer the Meereenese climate.

Tyrion advised against giving the Greyjoys the secession from Westeros that Daenerys had already agreed upon, and would undoubtedly disapprove of her mingling with them given his distaste for Yara’s younger brother. Her cape swished behind her as she passed one ship to another, ignoring the gawking of some of the less refined of the Greyjoy soldiers.

She was no stranger to staring anymore. If they thought to leer at her, mayhaps a visit from one of her children would scare some respect into them. Judging by her disposition when she stood before Daenerys, Yara would likely find some humor in the intimidation.

_The Black Wind_ was etched onto the side of the largest longship at the docks.

Glancing behind her at the pyramid that she had called home for years, she wondered if she would ever see it again once the voyage was underway. It would only be a matter of time until they set sail to the continent across the Narrow Sea. The home she had never known. Westeros.

Much of the crew seemed to ignore her, going about their business as if they had nothing better to do than scrub at the ships’ decks and mend its sails. Such devotion brought a smile to Daenerys’ lips; she hadn’t questioned her decision to choose the Greyjoys for allies over their cocksure uncle, but the faith Yara’s men had in her further validated the decision to her.

“Pardon,” she caught the attention of a bearded sailor donning the same rags all the ironborn seemed to wear over their armor, a hint of silver gleaming from an ax strapped to his side. He looked her up and down as if sizing her up for himself. “Where might I find your captain?”

His stare was less lecherous than it was unimpressed, and the scrutiny made her bristle.

“Downstairs, first door on the left,” the man grunted eventually, stepping aside to carry on with his business. She paused for a moment, wondering if coming here alone was the best decision. It wasn’t as though she could have brought Missandei or a guard with her, not with what she intended on doing by seeking the woman out. What was expected of a queen if not boldness?

She had taken enough lovers in her time to know when someone desired her. There was a tension between them a few days prior, that was undeniable.

That was why she at the base of her ship now, knocking raptly at the door to her chambers.

It was brazen to come to an ally like this, but what did either of them have to lose? She wanted to celebrate the beginning of her conquest to come, not languish away with naught for company but her own thoughts. Sex was a pleasure that she had been longing to feel once more; even more so than the fire and blood she had been meting out since her return from Vaes Dothrak. 

She wanted to feel good and suspected that the newly decreed Queen of the Iron Islands would be more than willing to oblige. It was a gamble to presume that the offhanded remark of _I never demand, but I’m up for anything, really_, was meant to be taken to heart but…

Yara intrigued her.

Daenerys did not anticipate that she would leave her wanting, especially not with the exhilaration that accompanied starting a war in which the odds were slanted in their favor.

“Come in,” Yara’s throaty voice called out from within the room, evidently not bothered to answer the door for herself. Though indifference irritated her when it came from rivals, there was something undeniably attractive about the way she wore it.

Daenerys wasted no time in pushing the door open.

The first thing she noticed was the dim light of a brazier in the center of the room, seeming to warm the modest room to a more intimate ambiance.

Theon Greyjoy spun on his feet with owlish eyes, looking thoroughly spooked despite the warning he had. For a moment, she wondered if she had walked in on something — perhaps a squabble among siblings, or a battle strategy of some sort? — but her worries dissipated once she caught sight of Yara reclined against a chaise, a tankard of ale lifted to her lips carelessly.

“Ah, if it isn’t the Dragon Queen,” Yara drawled, swallowing the last of her drink and offering her a wry smile as if she wasn’t the slightest surprised by her arrival. “What can I do for you?”

Daenerys allowed her eyes to flit in Theon’s direction. He hovered beside a cask of ale and averted his gaze as soon as she turned her own on him, as reserved and quiet as he had been during the audience the siblings had requested with her just days earlier.

What a strange man.

Tyrion had mentioned something or another about his captivity at the hands of some bastard in the North, freshly deposed by the last of the Stark family. She had been told that he had some sort of fixation on one of them, so much so that he urged his sister regularly to speed the process up along so as to return to Winterfell. It was an interesting tidbit of information, one Dany would file away for later.

It was no matter what he had been through so long as he did his part and went on his merry way and left them alone anyhow. 

“I was hoping to speak with you alone, my lady,” Daenerys lifted her chin, refusing to let her voice waver now that she was here. Her breathing quickened of its own accord when Yara lifted an inquisitive eyebrow, seeming to immediately catch on to what Daenerys had come here for.

“Oh?” She toyed with her, ogling her in a way that inexplicably caused Dany’s mouth to dry up. Suddenly she was parched but couldn’t find it in herself to want to break their eye contact. “What is it you want so urgently from me then, Daenerys Stormborn?”

Daenerys flicked her reluctant gaze back to Theon, who was watching the exchange with what looked to be exasperation and a hint of… resentment? She couldn’t begin to decipher the odd expression on his face and didn’t bother trying. She wasn’t here for _him_.

She allowed a smile to slide onto her lips as she allowed her eyes to return to Yara, standing tall despite the unfamiliar territory she had wandered into. She was still wearing her armor, the one with a kraken carved into it, though her raggedy coat and boots had been discarded.

Yara’s eyes roved over her form appreciatively as the stare-off continued, neither willing to yield. She would not state her intentions to be mocked, not when she burned for something more.

A moment was suspended between them.

Something crackled between their eyes even in the low light of the lower deck, something that went unspoken though it vindicated her somewhat. She hadn’t been imagining the friction between them then and certainly wasn’t imagining it now.

Yara smirked.

“I’ll leave then,” Theon got out gruffly from where he was standing, seeming to flounder until Yara fixed him with a meaningful look. She nodded curtly after a moment to which he left the room without another word said between them, shutting the door gently on his way out.

The other woman stood up as soon as her brother had left, stalking over to where Daenerys was standing as if she was prey— as if a dragon could ever be prey. Her eyes were dark under the shadows of the rafters above them, a hand reaching forward to use a beam to propel her forward.

They were inches apart from each other when Yara stopped in her tracks, playing coy once more.

“You’ve got me alone then,” she quipped, a twinkle in her eye. “What now?”

She couldn’t take any more of this; the games, the back-and-forth, the teasing. Politics were trying enough as is without bringing it into the bedroom. She did not come here to be toyed with.

Daenerys bridged the gap between them, her hands hurrying to grasp at Yara’s face when their lips met for the first time. The kiss tasted like the ocean had been set on fire, burning, _drowning_.

Her moan was swallowed up by a kiss so hard that it was like to bruise, hands taking it upon themselves to roam all over her back, taking special care around the curve of her arse.

Yara’s hands squeezed at her rump roughly as she detached her lips from Dany’s, choosing to focus her attention on backing her toward the furniture she had been laying across just minutes earlier. Daenerys allowed herself to be guided backward, unable to think of much else but the feeling of Yara’s scorching lips against her own. She had never felt this way with a lover before, not even in the more passionate nights she had shared with her late husband.

All of this was foreign to her, _different_, different from Daario and Drogo and Irri, all of them.

The back of Dany’s knees hit the divan and before she knew it, Yara was mouthing at her neck, a hand grazing over her breasts through her dress before using her distracted hands to tug off her leather gloves. She grunted as she sucked a bloom onto Dany’s neck, her tongue swirling around the mark briefly before she nipped at it again as if it was all she would be content to do it forever.

Daenerys allowed her fingers to card through Yara’s brown hair, tugging on it as the biting at her neck persisted. Her own hair, done up in two side braids that tumbled down her back, was getting ruined as she tipped her head back against the hard cushions of Yara’s quarters.

The hands —those _hands_ that never seemed to stay in one place— rushed to find the hem of her skirt, hiking it up as soon as she got a good hold of the fabric itself.

She shimmied so as to allow for the intrusion and leaned back when Yara stepped into the space in between her legs, half-laying and half-standing with the angle that they ended up standing in.

They only managed to get the dress up to her hips when impatience prevailed and two long fingers prodded at her entrance through her smallclothes, circling round and around as she continued the attack on her neck, leaving a trail of love bites in her wake.

Gods, this was what she had been wanting.

Dany pulled Yara forward by the shoulders, needing to get closer to her. She furrowed her brows at the feeling of cool metal against her collarbone, gasping aloud at the sensation.

Yara smiled against her skin, probably thinking that the sound was for her benefit, and continued her ministrations with her fingers for a few moments longer until the feeling became too overwhelming for her to bear. Her neck was likely covered in angry red and purple marks now but the other woman gave no indication of stopping anytime soon.

“Yara,” she interrupted, her voice a touch breathier than she intended. “Yara.”

She paused and propped herself up above Daenerys, her chest heaving as she removed her hand from in between her legs. Her train of thought was all but lost with those dark ocean eyes on her and before she could do so much as form a sentence, Yara’s lips were on hers again.

A nibbling at Dany’s lower lip was what almost did her in before Yara leaned forward to whisper against the shell of her ear, her breath hot. “Tell me where you want me to touch you, love.”

Daenerys almost keened at the feeling, gripping Yara closer to her as she spoke. The other queen smirked triumphantly down at her, thrusting her hips forward a few times to tantalize her further.

She allowed for her bare legs to wrap around Yara’s waist, a telltale ripping of the seams coming from her bunched-up dress. And then it happened again; the other woman’s breastplate pressed against her torso, the iron’s coolness against her hot skin causing her to flinch.

“Take the armor off first,” Daenerys ordered with all the conviction of a seasoned battle commander. Yara grinned at being told what to do but complied all the same, dropping onto her knees on the floor before her as she searched for the straps at the top of her breastplate.

After a few moments, the euphoria wore off and Dany looked down, Yara had undone both straps but her eyes were closed. Her lips were upturned as if she took some joy in removing the plate, letting it fall forward and off her. She stalled for a moment, as if taken out of reality.

Daenerys just barely stifled a laugh. “Are you alright?”

Her eyes snapped open then and it was as if nothing had happened at all, a sly smile crossing her face before she clambered back on top of Daenerys, consuming her lips with little between them now but the fabric of the tunic and dress.

The kiss was scorching and before long, they were in the same position as before, hands groping for any expanse of skin they could find.

Taking Dany’s dress off was a joined effort, four hands all pulling at the tiny clasps that fastened the gown together. It fell to the ground before she was pushed into a horizontal position, gasping as the wind was knocked out of her. Yara chuckled as she bent down, pinning Daenerys’ hands behind her head as she trailed a line of hot kisses down her neck, to her chest, and then lower.

Yara was an aggressive lover, rough and dominant in a way that thrilled her. Initiative was one of the most attractive qualities in a bedmate, and she hadn’t quite met anyone so confident before. Even the satisfied smile she wore at each sigh that left her lips was unbelievably attractive.

She released a hand to unclothe her further, sliding the strap of her underclothes down so as to expose a breast. Immediately, her mouth captured one of her nipples in its hold and licked, eyes screwed shut as she lost herself in the action.

Daenerys cried out, her hips stuttering to find some sort of release.

Yara seemed to have a mind to delve lower and lower, though she let out a surprised sound when she was tugged back up and pulled into another kiss, unable to help but sink into it.

She lifted her arms obediently when both of Dany’s hands yanked at the ends of her tunic, allowing the other woman to pull it entirely off of her without much scuffle. Right as they were about to get back to it, Dany’s brows furrowed, a palm coming up to stop her.

Half-clothed, Daenerys glanced between the discarded breastplate on the ground and Yara’s chest, her breasts rimmed with a red that only seemed to come from restrictive metalwork. She had worn enough ill-fitting gowns in her time (she still shuddered thinking of the gowns she wore in Qarth) to know when clothing did more to harm the body than it did to highlight it.

“Poor things,” she couldn’t help herself from saying, though she knew the dubious look Yara threw her wasn’t quite the response that either of them were hoping for.

“Yes, poor things,” Yara mocked her, though not unkindly. “I’m afraid it’s all rather tragic for them. One moment they were being groped by a beautiful woman and now here they are, exposed and alone. If only there were a way to warm them up again.”

She couldn’t help the grudging smile that wormed its way onto her lips at Yara’s theatrics, a great many things going through her mind. Looking back down at the breastplace, she thought she identified the issue now. The metal was clunky and shoddy and almost certainly wasn’t tailored to her. “I’ll take pity on them if you tell me why you built breasts into your armor.”

Yara blinked, confused at the turn the conversation had taken.

Glancing down at her breasts and then at Daenerys’ disheveled state, she made a face. “I’m half a second from fucking you into another bloody continent and you’re on about my armor?”

There were a great many things that Daenerys was ill-educated on, having spent most of her life running from place to place with no expenses or time to learn under a septa’s tutelage, but she did know that armor typically wasn’t fashioned like that, even for women.

The women she had seen in Essos wore flimsy armor to suit the hot weather but wore support underneath their armor rather than attempt to build some into it. The entire design seemed flawed from her perspective, no matter how little she knew about the logistics behind the piece of armor.

Shifting closer to Yara, Daenerys practically crawled into her lap and straddled her, the mood from earlier not yet lost to them. There was something intoxicating about Yara; something about her was unbearably attractive, though Daenerys couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was.

Yara’s throat bobbed and she looked bemused at the action, her hands grounding Dany’s hips down to her own. Suddenly, her breeches seemed to be the most irritating material she had ever seen in her life. It seemed a smidge unfair that they were still wearing any clothes at all, really.

Leaning forward, Daenerys grasped at Yara’s nipples with lithe fingers, rolling them around as if to massage them. Unbidden, Yara moaned at the feeling and arched her back in response to the touch.

“Seven hells, woman,” she murmured under her breath as Daenerys continued with the touching, watching every expression on her face with careful consideration.

She was beautiful.

Daenerys had never been quite so invested in her partner’s pleasure as she was now, rubbing at Yara’s sore breasts as if they had been lovers for years and hadn’t just happened upon each other tonight. It almost felt like this wasn’t the first time. The dreamer in her supposed that with such an arduous journey ahead of them, it wouldn't be so bad if it happened once more, or even twice. Perhaps even a few more times after that. What harm could it do?

“You should get it resized,” Daenerys breathed out, promising to herself that this would be the last of her remarks before she lunged for Yara once more, breathing her in; how could one woman make the sea smell so captivating? She licked her lips. “Or better yet, get some new armor.”

Mayhaps she could have someone craft some new armor for her soon, even before she took Winterfell. Dragonstone must have some competent armorers in its towns, mustn’t it? It would be leagues better than the rusted stuff she wore now, a stubborn show of pride from the ironborn. They would have time to work out the semantics of new armor and the merits of breasts built into the metal itself later.

If she meant to wear breast-shaped armor, she might as well get it fitted right.

“And you,” Yara’s deft hands roved over Dany’s body, wandering from her neck to her torso, to palm at her breasts, to slide down her stomach, and then to grip at her hips. It was so quick and yet somehow, the pace felt tortuous. Were it not for her pride, Daenerys might have groaned aloud for her to get on with it. “Need to stop teasing me if you mean to peak tonight.”

“You would withhold pleasure from me?” Daenerys leaned forward to rest her head against Yara’s. Their breath mingled as they looked at each other, eyes nearly black with want.

Yara’s line of sight shifted down to Dany’s lips and before she could contain herself, she surged forward. Their lips moved against each other’s as did almost every part of their enflamed bodies. The room seemed to get hotter with each movement, every ounce of her body needing more.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Yara murmured before they lost themselves in each other once more, all talk of breastplates and teasing forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr at targaryenstyrell! Comments and kudos are super appreciated!


End file.
